


Dramaturgy

by iqom



Category: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Face-Sitting, First Date, Flirting, Gross, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, Wet & Messy, but what if roulxs isn’t as dumb as he looks, dun dun dun..., its gross lmao, look out guys mettatons playing mind games again, sorta post-pacifist I guess? if the deltarune fam was included in that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom
Summary: Mettaton, a successful film director on the Surface, holds an open casting call and is met with a young man who eats earthworms, speaks like he's reciting Shakespeare drunk, and professes his ardent desire to take Mettaton on a date to Olive Garden.Mettaton, against all odds, accepts.





	1. Frontstage

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY, I got the ball rolling for this one. This is going to be two-chapter piece; this chapter is sfw, and the following one will be narsty.  
> I love this ship so goddamn much. Hope you enjoy!  
> (also pls suspend your belief with me and pretend Olive Garden has tablecloths asdklfj)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Theatrical dramaturgy is the study of dramatic composition and the representation of the main elements of drama on the stage."

If anything, Rouxls Kaard certainly knew how to make an impression.

Before he even entered the audition room, Mettaton had heard about him from both of his assistants. It was the last day of open auditions (where anyone, regardless of skill or experience, could show up the day of and get three minutes of time to give the best performance they could), something Mettaton decided to do mostly because he wanted fresh talent for his upcoming film and a little bit for his own amusement. Open auditions with no vetting process meant a decidedly eccentric group of hopefuls, something that entertained Mettaton to no end.

In Mettaton’s fifteen years in show business, he’d sat through many a painful or strange audition. Nothing, however-- the android director was absolutely certain-- could ever measure up to the inconceivable absurdity that was Rouxls Kaard.

On a five-minute break, Mettaton sent his casting director, Clarisse-- a rather anxiety-prone but reliable young woman-- to the hall to scope out the scene and report back on how many actors there were left to audition. She returned within thirty seconds, the color drained from her face.

“How’s it looking, darling?” He took a prim sip from his water cup to hide his excitement; Clarisse’s expression was intriguing, to say the least.

“Um… there’s a guy out there in pumpkin pants, eating earthworms out of a Tupperware.”

“Pumpkin pants? Huh. Halloween lasts all year for some, I suppose.”

“No, no, like… the Shakespeare kind-- Wait, you really aren’t more concerned about the worms?”

“Breeches?” Mettaton chuckled. “Wow. A bold choice.”

“ _Earthworms_ , Mettaton. Out of a _Tupperware._ ”

“Hey, boss--” Mettaton’s assistant director, still referred to only as ‘Burgerpants’ for old times’ sake, sauntered back into the room with a coffee. “There’s some dude eating live worms in the hallway.”

 

And so, Mettaton was expecting-- highly anticipating-- the arrival of this mysterious individual in period dress and an apparent taste for earthworms. He sat distracted through the next few auditions, unable to focus on anything else.

It only got better when the man himself finally entered, bursting through the double doors with the force of a SWAT team and marching right up to the taped ‘x’ on the floor with a smarmy grin on his face. As foretold, he was dressed in obnoxious Spanish breeches with red and gold pleats, along with a puff-sleeved tunic. He didn’t even pause to introduce himself or the piece he had prepared, instead opting to launch straight into a disorganized blend of multiple Shakespearean soliloquies; culminating in one long, rambling monologue about star-crossed lovers, regicide, and yellow cross-gartered stockings. He clearly forgot his lines at one point and began randomly inserting famous Shakespeare quotes here and there, his thin black pupils shifting from side to side in his crescent moon eyes, veins bulging visibly in his neck every time he over-enunciated, showers of blue ectoplasm spraying from his gap-toothed maw.

Clarisse looked absolutely appalled, using her yellow notepad to shield her eyes, while Burgerpants doubled over behind the auditioners’ table with a paw clapped over his mouth to hide his uncontrollable laughter. Mettaton, however, found himself riveted by this trainwreck of a performance…

For whatever reason, Mettaton had a history of being utterly fascinated by weirdo and loser types; Burgerpants, as a nineteen-year-old, had easily fallen into that latter category before he pursued his career in cinema on the Surface. The times Burgerpants catastrophically fucked up as a short-order cook (which were many) just made Mettaton all the more inclined to keep him employed. He yearned to see Burgerpants _vulnerable,_ get close to him, see beneath that facade of young adult angst. It had been like chipping away at an ugly geode to reveal the crystal inside; and if that was the analogy, then Mettaton considered himself an avid geologist.  

Perhaps it was the actor in Mettaton, drawn to unusual personalities that he could potentially use down the line for a character study. Or perhaps it was the fact that Mettaton kept his own vulnerability locked up so tight, he could almost forget he had any at all. He preferred to explore _others_ , crack open personality quirks like an egg and let the yolk of troubled childhoods or fears of inadequacy spill out…

The feelings Mettaton quickly developed about this absolute fool in pumpkin pants before him were not dissimilar.

“I don’t believe we ever got your name,” Mettaton remarked calmly when Rouxls finally finished-- a full five minutes overtime.

“Forsooth, fair prince, I am heralded as Rouxls Kaard,” he declared, rolling the ‘r’ sound in his first name, “calligrapher, lawkeeper, bug-keeper, connoisseur of cages and...eth... puzzle master.”

“Fair prince?” Mettaton repeated, one arched eyebrow rocketing skyward. “Is that me?”

Burgerpants lost his composure yet again at this juncture, strangled snickering beginning to escape from behind his paws.

“Indeed ‘tis; I am thy biggest fan, for no beauty in this world-- save mine own-- could holdeth a candle to thine talent in the arts, thine… _obvious_ perfection.”

Mettaton leaned forward over the table with a placid smile, resting his chin on his hands. “Aw, shucks, darling. Do go on.”

“But soft! What good art words to describeth such an indescribable-eth beauty?" Rouxls passed a gloved hand over his gelled white hair and turned his face dramatically toward the heavens. "Thine face shineth as the moon does. Thine hair appeareth feather-soft and falleth in perfect layers. Thine chest--” Rouxls’ eyes, droopy and deep like pits, searched what he could see of Mettaton; which was, for now, only the robot’s top half. “Thine chest is broad! And supple!”

 _“Broad… and… supple,”_ Burgerpants squeaked from the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. Clarisse was looking rather worse for wear, like she wanted to dig a hole in the linoleum floor and bury herself in it.

“Mr. Kaard,” Mettaton drawled, kicking Burgerpants gently but firmly under the table, “Why exactly did you decide to audition today?”

Rouxls let out a small sigh, smiling lovingly at Mettaton while placing a hand over his heart. “Thou appeareth to have guessed my ulterior motives. Hark, dear prince!” he thrust out his hand to Mettaton, “I am no actor. I am but thy doting suitor, and I appear before thou today to ask for thy hand in date-ship—”

Clarisse huffed, clearly at the end of her rope. “I’ll call security—”

“You know what? I accept, Mr. Kaard. I’m out of here at seven. Meet me outside, and you can take me to dinner.”

Both Clarisse’s and Burgerpants’ heads snapped up in unison, staring at Mettaton like he was out of his mind-- and maybe he was, but Mettaton didn’t particularly care.

Rouxls grinned, blue plasma dripping from the left corner of his mouth. “Thou art wise as thou art fair. You shan't be disappointed!”

 

 

When Rouxls came back to the studio wearing what looked like a military marching band jacket and sleek black leggings-- instead of his Shakespearean garb, which apparently “t’was decidedly uncomfortable”-- Mettaton assumed by his formal attire that Rouxls wished to take him somewhere fancy. There were, of course, a myriad of restaurants in the city to choose from, many of which would have made a perfect setting for a first date.

Instead, Rouxls expressed a strong desire to go to Olive Garden, and so that’s where Mettaton found himself for the first time in probably over ten years. Despite the kitschy, pseudo-Tuscan decor and flimsy plastic menus, the restaurant was quiet and the lights were dim; a surprisingly apt wine-and-dine setting…

“So, darling, tell me. You’re clearly not human, but I’ve never seen a monster like you before.”

“Troth, I am what is calledeth a Darkner,” Rouxls explained, dabbing at the bead of ectoplasm slipping from the corner of his mouth with his white satin napkin.

“A Darkner, hmm? I’ve never heard of your kind. Do Darkners… have accents?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“So why _do_ you talk like that, then?”

“Liketh howeth?”

Mettaton took another sip of wine, his dark eyes trained on Rouxls. It appeared that getting to know Rouxls, the _real_ Rouxls, was going to be a bit more of challenge than just asking him outright.

Mettaton had ascertained earlier in the evening that Rouxls was forcing that old English affectation, and forcing it did not come easily to him. After his first glass of wine, Rouxls started flubbing the pattern somewhat, using “you” instead of “thou” every so often, sometimes even going entire sentences without any bastardized Elizabethan terminology.

Now, it was just a matter of _why,_ and Mettaton was determined to earn Rouxls’ trust, get closer to him, and find the answer.

By any means necessary.

Mettaton had to admit, Rouxls wasn’t bad-looking; in fact, quite the opposite. His hair was gelled to perfection, smooth and shiny like goose feathers, and the gold tassels on his navy blue jacket were catching the candlelight, glinting every time he moved in his chair. Surely, Mettaton's undeniable attraction to Rouxls was the wine talking (or as Rouxls described it, “fermented grapes, crushed like mine enemies into a delicious adult beverage”); they’d both already had two glasses and Mettaton was feeling rather pleasant and uninhibited.

Rouxls seemed to sense eyes on him and glanced up, flashing Mettaton a charming grin. “Thinkest thou of me?”

“Actually, yes,” Mettaton admitted, swirling his remaining wine in the glass. “That jacket was a nice choice, darling. It’s… sexy.”

Rouxls chuckled, leaning forward and setting an elbow on the table to rest his chin on. “Be that as it may, I thinketh it would look even better on your--”

A waitress appeared, interrupting whatever it was Rouxls intended to say; even still, Mettaton could wager a good guess at how that sentence was supposed to end.

 _Ahh… so_ that’s _how you wanna play?_ Mettaton thought, his smile broadening. _Game on, Rouxls Kaard. Let’s get to know each other._

As Rouxls put in his order-- vermicelli pomodoro-- Mettaton tapped the Darkner’s foot innocuously under the tablecloth with one high heeled shoe before retracting it. Rouxls didn’t seem to notice, so Mettaton did it again; allowing their ankles to kiss for a few moments before pulling away.

“And for you, sir?” The waitress beamed down at Mettaton.

“Oh, no thank you, darling. I’m not hungry.” As the waitress bustled off towards the kitchen, Mettaton extended his leg and gently rubbed just above Rouxls’ ankle with the toe of his shoe. “Not for food, anyway.”

Rouxls held his gaze, his poppyseed pupils visibly dilating in the milky whites of his eyes. His lips, slightly parted and wet with ectoplasm, sparkled in the dim light. “Dost thou find me… appetizing, mine prince?”

Mettaton felt himself stir between his legs; it was something about that word choice. “Oh, darling,” he purred, his voice a little more breathy than he intended, “I’m going to eat you alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ  
> The definition in the summary is from Wikipedia.


	2. Backstage...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sociological dramaturgy argues that actions are dependent upon time, place, and audience. The goal of this presentation of self is acceptance from the audience through manipulation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my adlksfj, this really took me far too long to complete. I've been agonizing over RK's character and my headcanons for him, working on other fics in the meantime, debating whether or not I reaaaaally wanna make this chapter as gross and explicit as I did lmao (the answer is yes!)  
> I hope it's worth the wait!

It had been a little while since Mettaton’s last one-night stand-- not a disgracefully long time, but a good many months at least-- so crushing his mouth against Rouxls’, threading his gloved fingers through Rouxls’ gossamer hair, actually felt… embarrassingly good, like heaving a long-awaited exhale. Rouxls’ lips were soft, unnaturally malleable, and just a touch clammy; every time he made a pleasured sound, plasma welled up on his tongue and leaked out, dribbling down Mettaton’s chin. Mettaton’s core burned with filthy pleasure as he tasted it, ripe and a little salty, on the Darkner's greedy tongue.

Rouxls had long since shed his clothes-- a complicated ordeal that required Mettaton’s assistance with the jacket clasps that Rouxls clearly fastened incorrectly-- revealing to Mettaton a scrawny, pale blue chest and an impressive crop of fleecy hair, slick with sweat, that trailed down his body until it disappeared under the waistline of his briefs. Mettaton lost his business casual attire at some point too, leaving him bare save for his designer heels and a black g-string, so as he pressed himself to Rouxls he could feel every drop of the Darkner’s sweat (of which there was plenty) against his broad silicone chest, running down in beads between their bodies. It was all so utterly revolting; and Mettaton relished every bit of it, loving how dirty he felt.  

After a long minute of locking lips, Mettaton pulled away with a deep gasp and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“My, my… what a delightful surprise. You come in for an open audition and you’re in the director’s bed by the end of the night...” Mettaton ghosted his fingers along Rouxls’ prominent collarbone, cocking his head to one side as he pondered his words. “...Hmm. On second thought, I think that’s rather commonplace in Hollywood.”

Rouxls chuckled, patting down his mussed white hair with a sweaty blue palm. “I knewest from the moment we met that lovemaking was our joint destiny, o sexy prince of mine. Still, thou art very lucky to indulgeth in a night with Rouxls Kaard!” He winked saucily, displacing little droplets of plasma on his eyelashes and causing them to sprinkle down like a light rainfall. “It doesn’t happen much.”

“Oh?” Mettaton smirked. “So you don’t get laid very often, is what you’re telling me?”

“Mhm, rarely! _Wait,_ I-I meanst… mayhaps… what? Ahem. Nay, troth, I meanst to say’th that I only engageth with those worthy of mine… _obvious sexual prowesseth."_

The only thing obvious to Mettaton was the marked increase of Rouxls’ unique ‘accent’ just then. Mettaton filed it away in the back of his mind-- _threatened ego equals more bad Shakespeare--_ among his other observations.  _Fascinating._

“Ahh, I see now.” Mettaton smiled mischievously, reaching forward and tucking a section of Rouxls’ hair behind his ear. “So… you’re a blowhard.”

Rouxls waggled his finger knowingly, giving Mettaton another wink with his other eye. “Stars! Thou readst me like a book!”

Mettaton hummed in amusement, leaning in to press his lips to Rouxls’ again while he added another mental note: _doesn’t know what ‘blowhard’ means._

Rouxls sighed happily, practically melting against Mettaton’s mouth and shuddering with violent delight as the robot began kissing lower, leaving dark lipstick marks all alongside Rouxls’ thick trail of white hair.

“Tell me what you like, darling,” Mettaton whispered hotly against Rouxls’ stomach, guiding the excited Darkner’s legs apart.

“Ahh,” Rouxls purred, smoothing Mettaton’s hair with a gentle palm as soft black-painted lips brushed against his swelling erection. “Thou art about to bloweth mine member. I approve.”

The statement was so completely bizarre, and said with an astonishing excess of undue confidence, that Mettaton couldn’t focus on withdrawing said member from Rouxls’ underwear anymore. His eyes flicked upwards to give the enraptured Darkner an incredulous look.

_“Pardon?"_

Rouxls chuckled fondly, Mettaton’s scandalized tone sailing right over his head. “I am delightedeth to see thou enjoyest more… submissive sexual acts. How fortunate! For I, Rouxls Kaard, am exceedingly dominant and willst gladly be thy most virile and robust power top.”

Mettaton had never lost an erection so quickly in his life. 

First and foremost: the notion that Rouxls had topped anyone or anything ever was inconceivable, and Mettaton was absolutely certain of that. Second: there was something about this ridiculous, self-satisfied and utterly pathetic little fool that filled Mettaton with an overwhelming desire to put him in his place-- no, not only that; he wanted Rouxls to _beg_ to be used by him, to understand that’s what he deserves and happily accept his punishment.

That, Mettaton speculated, was not going to be easy. 

He’d have to play his cards exactly right. If he’d learned anything from this whirlwind of an evening, it was that Rouxls’ obstinacy and staunch adherence to his colorful array of lies made asking him to just _be himself, for fuck’s sake,_ unworkable. Just like with his ridiculous speech pattern; he would never admit to faking it... but, after a confidence boost and a few glasses of wine, the affectation just fell away on its own.

“You’re the answer to all my prayers, darling,” Mettaton drawled, hooking his fingers in the elastic of Rouxls’ briefs. “Let’s get these off, hmm?”

Rouxls’ cock was skinny and of average size, the base wreathed with thick white hair; decidedly unimpressive, but Mettaton showered Rouxls with compliments, declaring that he’d never seen a more perfect dick in his good many years of sucking experience before drawing his tongue teasingly up the length of the shaft, successfully silencing Rouxls and thus preventing him from turning Mettaton off any more than he already had.

Mettaton was playing along, for now, as he pushed the head of the squirming Darkner’s cock past his thin lips; but this was (and had always been) Mettaton’s game, and he was quite confident that he would come out on top.

Rouxls whimpered throatily like a sick animal, spasming so intensely that Mettaton ended up needing to hold his twig-like legs still with both hands. He slid the rest of Rouxls’ length down his throat with the facility and grace of a sword swallower, his senses overwhelmed with sweat and musk and sour plasma.

 _There it is,_ Mettaton thought as his groin stirred hungrily once again. As it were, he considered himself somewhat of a blowjob aficionado, holding deep appreciation and respect for all things fellatory. He loved the sensation of his throat stretching to accommodate, feeling the recipient's hips twitching and pushing up against his mouth, hearing their moans and sighs of gratitude from above. Rouxls’ abundance of sweat and body hair didn’t detract from the experience at all and in fact very much contributed to Mettaton’s burgeoning pleasure. He put on a show for Rouxls, massaging his lanky thighs, making obscene sounds around his cock; even pretending to choke a little bit. Rouxls gasped and moaned, gripping the bottom sheet with white-knuckled fingers as Mettaton bobbed his head with eager intention, dragging his mouth up and then all the way back down until his nose and lips connected with Rouxls’ pelvis.

 _God, he’d be so hot if he just never talked again,_ Mettaton mused deliriously, his own cock threatening to spring from his underwear. He kept this up for about a minute, blowing him earnestly, winding Rouxls up tighter and tighter until it almost seemed certain that he was going to burst--

Mettaton extracted Rouxls’ cock from his mouth and sat up on his knees, plucking a few stray hairs from his tongue.

“W-why’d you stop?” Rouxls queried desperately, his voice cracking midway through the sentence like he were a pubescent teen. _Game on._

“ _Oh, honey..._ I need you,” Mettaton pleaded, his voice syrupy and saccharine. He lay back and opened his legs, rubbing himself through his panties. “I want my big, strong--” _How the fuck did he phrase it again?_ “--virile power top, baby, please…”

Rouxls’ sickle-shaped eyes widened dramatically, one corner of his mouth starting to twitch as uncertainty rose clear as day on his bluebottle face. He hesitantly lifted a quaking hand, as if to reach for Mettaton, but set it promptly back down again; and then raised it to smooth his hair with a nervous laugh. “Certainly, certainly... what shalt… I do to… please thou, perchance?”

“I need you to _take the lead_ , darling,” Mettaton cooed, lifting his high-heeled feet from the mattress and resting them gently on Rouxls’ shoulders, one on each side. “Come here and fuck me, just like you promised… you _do_ know how to do that... don’t you?”

“A-ah! Of course I shalt pleasure thou-- I mean, I’ll service-- _I-I mean,_ thou art here f-for mine--”

Mettaton narrowed his eyes and lifted his right foot, planted it on Rouxls’ breastbone and pushed him back against the headboard with a nasty smile. Rouxls gasped in surprise, his hands flying to Mettaton’s slender ankle… and then his eyes rolled back with obvious pleasure and Mettaton knew then that he had won.

“Ohh, so we _like_ that, do we?” Mettaton sneered, dropping the sugary-sweet submissive act at once. To his wicked delight, Rouxls bowed his head to kiss the pointed toe of the beige Louboutin, sliding his sweaty hands up the robot’s muscled calf as he did so. “Well, well. This certainly changes things.”

“I shalt d-do what I saidst originally,” Rouxls muttered, crushing his mouth against the shiny leather shoe, “once I havest finished with this… for Rouxls Kaard’s dominance i-is… unrivalededeth--”

“Mmhmm. Lick it.”

Rouxls did what he was told immediately, drawing his indigo tongue up the side of the shoe before slipping the stiletto into his mouth, leaving behind a sticky trail of blue on beige. He sucked on the heel for a few seconds, meeting Mettaton’s eyes with a lustful stare as he did so, before pulling it out with a _pop_ and licking the vibrant red sole like a slavering dog. Mettaton couldn’t help but laugh; the disdainful sound melting down like candle wax to a warm sigh of pleasure as Rouxls moved forward, kissing up the front of his shapely leg to his knee.

“Tell me what you think of my legs, darling,” Mettaton murmured, finding it a little difficult now to keep his voice even and aloof.

“ _Nngh…_ thine legs are divine, fair prince, I find mineself… unable to get enough...”

“Great answer,” Mettaton breathed as Rouxls reached his inner thigh. The Darkner’s uniquely sticky mouth felt phenomenal, the hot plasma melting on Mettaton’s synthetic skin making his pleasure sensors fire thousandfold. He lifted his knees to chest level as Rouxls ventured closer and closer to his now aching groin. He expected the Darkner to go immediately for his waiting cock; but, to his delighted surprise, Rouxls ducked his head, clearly aiming a little lower…

“I… I would like…to...” Rouxls stammered, slipping a finger under the elastic string of Mettaton’s thong and tugging on it, “I d-desireth--”

“Spit it out, slut,” Mettaton ordered, over-enunciating for dramatic effect, “Tell me what you want.”

Rouxls whimpered, grasping Mettaton’s hips and pressing a sloppy kiss to one perfectly round asscheek. “I… I entreat thou--”

“ _What?”_

“Please let me eat your ass,” Rouxls groaned; all desperation, no Shakespeare. Couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Get on your back,” Mettaton snarled, pushing himself upright as Rouxls hurriedly obeyed his orders. Once Rouxls situated himself supine on the bed, Mettaton shed his panties and lifted a leg up and over him, facing Rouxls’ feet, his ass hovering inches away from Rouxls’ face.

“If you’re going to eat my ass, you’re going to do it properly,” Mettaton stipulated sternly, leaning forward and gripping Rouxls’ thighs to steady himself. “Now, tongue out…”

Rouxls spread Mettaton apart with eager fingers, guiding the robot down onto his waiting tongue. It seemed that Rouxls’ anatomy was tailored to the purpose of facesitting: his lack of a nose paired with the overabundance of wetness in his mouth served him-- served _Mettaton--_ exceedingly well. Mettaton groaned heavily as he twitched his hips, dragging his asshole back and forth across the flat, tensed surface of Rouxls’ tongue (partly because it felt phenomenal, but mostly to prove a point) before arching his back and forcing Rouxls’ face farther in between his cheeks.

“What are you waiting for?!” Mettaton demanded, and Rouxls swiftly commenced flicking his tongue over the puckered hole, his moan of gratitude considerably muffled. His fingers dug into the surrounding flesh, keeping Mettaton’s ass spread open for him even as the now extremely aroused robot swiveled and shifted, every move drawing a fresh moan or growl of pleasure from his lips as he ground down onto Rouxls’ mouth.

“Ohh, look at _you..._ ” Mettaton teased, reaching for Rouxls’ cock. He held it steady in one hand and with the other, dragged the tip of his index finger in gentle circles along the swollen head. “You’re hard as a fucking diamond, you little kiss-ass. What are you thinking about down there, hmm?” He chuckled lowly like a cartoon villain, thrumming his fingers ever so gently up Rouxls’ shaft. “Trying to taste all of the cocks that have been in my ass before you?”

Rouxls keened passionately, his tongue wriggling with new enthusiasm. Mettaton’s brow furrowed from the increased stimulation, rocking his hips back against Rouxls with a long, loud moan.

“Make no mistake,” Mettaton managed breathlessly, “Yours is-- _ahh--_ not going to be one of them. Fucking me is a privilege that little-- _hngn--_ perverts like you don’t get to have. No, _you--_ ” he interrupted himself with a needy gasp and a strangled ‘ _ohmygod'_ before continuing, “You are going to lick my asshole, like the sick bastard that you are… and then when I’m ready-- _nngh, god--_ I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Rouxls practically sobbed, and Mettaton watched as the enthused Darkner’s sore cock twitched against his palm. _Careful…!_

He needed to maintain control, keep Rouxls right on the edge but no further until the exact moment that he wanted. He carried on with this for a few minutes longer, until his legs shook and he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to fuck Rouxls.

Rouxls was, evidently, equally keen on Mettaton’s plans for him. He scrambled up onto all fours the moment he could, chest heaving with excitement, flattening himself out on the bed in front of Mettaton and thrusting his bony ass in the air.

“ _Mmm,_ look at this arch,” Mettaton enthused, pushing his hands down the formidable curve of Rouxls’ spine. “What a good little cockslut you are.”

“ _Fuck me,"_ Rouxls begged urgently, his normally bombastic voice so breathy and desperate that it took Mettaton slightly by surprise, “Please fuck me…”

“Yeah?” Mettaton rocked his hips and slid his length up and down between Rouxls’ cheeks, shuddering at the sensation of warm lubriciousness paired with coarse, prickly hair against the sensitive underside. Rouxls reached behind with both hands and spread his cheeks, baring himself to Mettaton; the delighted robot responded by taking his purple silicone cock in hand and smacking it teasingly against his hole. “You want me to just… cram this into you like--”

Mettaton pushed into Rouxls, his words dissolving into a strangled, delirious combination of a throaty moan and a mess of mechanical sounds akin to a fax machine. The tremendous tightness felt extraordinary gripping Mettaton’s cock and he was, at this point, absolutely desperate; but he forced himself to wait, allowing Rouxls a moment or two to relax.

Rouxls (clearly well acquainted with this practice) did so in record time, heaving a sigh of bliss as he pushed himself backwards onto Mettaton. Mettaton held himself still, removing his hands from where they had been on Rouxls’ hips, and allowed the scrawny Darkner to fuck himself, grunting every time Rouxls’ ass connected with his metal pelvis.

“I’m usually… dominant,” Rouxls croaked, and Mettaton couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Tonight, I’ve… made… an exception… for y-- for thou…”

“Is that so...” Mettaton reached down over Rouxls and combed lovingly through the Darkner’s flaxen hair, the melting style gel sticky and coagulant between Mettaton’s fingers. “What did you call yourself again, my darling? A _power top?"_

“Preciseth--”

Mettaton snarled and yanked Rouxls’ hair, jerking the Darkner upright on his knees. Rouxls cried out passionately, spine curved like an archer’s bow, his body quivering as Mettaton’s hand snaked around to his front and pawed blindly at his groin until it found what it was looking for.

“I’ll show you a fucking power top.”

And then Mettaton fucked him, hard, as promised. He buried his face the crook of Rouxls’ neck and milked him desperately with his hand as he pounded him with all of his strength, their passionate cries blending together and harmonizing into a cacophony of expletives:

“ _Ahh,_ fuck, oh my fucking god, fucking-- _oh god, oh yes, oh yes--_ ”

“Fuck me, fuck me hard, please, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me--"_

They stayed upright like this for a minute, Mettaton fucking Rouxls, Rouxls thrusting up into Mettaton’s fist. The position soon became awkward and difficult to manage as they both began to lose control, so Mettaton finally shoved Rouxls away and demanded he flip onto his back.

Knees up, feet in the air, toes curled; Rouxls took Mettaton’s cock again with heightened enthusiasm, thick blue tears of ecstasy welling in his eyes as he furiously jerked himself off.

“ _God,_ you’re so fucking-- _ahh--_ good at this,” Mettaton gasped, fucking Rouxls brutally as water vapor seeped from the cooling vents on his cheeks. “I’ll admit-- _hnf_ \-- I’m very impressed--”

Rouxls spasmed and came without any warning, writhing on the sweat-soaked mattress as thick spurts of cum arched impressively from his cock and up his front. Needless to say, Mettaton had not really been expecting that, of all things he’d said, to be the cause of Rouxls’ climax. Somewhere in the back of Mettaton’s mind--a practical and inquisitive place unclouded by his now overwhelming lust-- he filed another note: _needs my approval...?_

More importantly, Mettaton could feel his own orgasm on the horizon as telltale pressure built in his core. He pulled out of Rouxls and walked forward on his knees, tugging feverishly at himself, until his cock loomed over the Darkner’s face.

If there was one thing Mettaton was absolutely determined to do, it was make this impossible little bastard _admit_ that he’s…

“So much for a power top,” Mettaton sneered. “Look at you, waiting for my cum… Tell me what you are.”

“Cum on my face,” Rouxls whined, wrapping his arms around Mettaton’s thighs.

“ _Tell me what you are,_ ” Mettaton groaned, the tension rising precipitously.

“I’m whatever thou want-eth! Whatever thou wishes!”

Mettaton’s arm ached, his movements jerky and out of control as he began to lose himself. “Just tell me… you’re a _fucking..._ bottom--”

“Oh, Mettaton, I’m your bottom bitch!”

Mettaton cried out harshly as he came, his voice deep and guttural. Rouxls opened his mouth and stuck out his deep blue tongue to receive it properly; the glimmering liquid hit the back of his throat, splattered across his face and made a mess of his neck and chest.

 

As they lay there in the semi-darkness, too exhausted to speak, Rouxls wrapped up comfortably in Mettaton's arms... Mettaton was still unsatisfied. Even after all of that, after the wine, the tricky questions, the mind games, the _sex;_ Mettaton still felt like he understood Rouxls Kaard no better than when he waltzed into the studio for his audition.

He’d gotten Rouxls to admit an intimate detail, sure; but “submissive in bed” was not exactly 'the real Rouxls Kaard’ Mettaton was looking for. It had been a laughably easy detail to extract from him, anyway. Rouxls was just that bad of an actor, Mettaton supposed, with his pitiful insistence of being dominant--

_Or was he?_

Mettaton frowned. For someone stubborn enough to look Mettaton dead in the eye and insist he wasn’t faking an accent when he’d spoken normally moments before... Rouxls had certainly given up fast. As the delirium of sex fully faded and Mettaton’s acuity returned to him, he realized extracting that out of Rouxls had been much too simple.

It had certainly been what Mettaton _expected_ to extract out of Rouxls. A textbook transformation from an obnoxious, egotistical idiot to a sniveling submissive...

It felt suspiciously false.

Indeed, everything Rouxls did or said felt false, like he was just acting out what Mettaton wanted to see; putting on a performance for someone he admired and pretending to be anything they wanted, mirroring their expectations, manipulating their perceptions of him. Whatever it took to earn their standing ovation.

But there had to be more, something behind it all. A backstage, with thoughts and experiences individual to Rouxls that were beyond licking the boots of those he looked up to.

There had to be a real Rouxls Kaard.  _Right?_

In any case, Mettaton was determined to find out.

He peered down at Rouxls-- who had made himself quite comfortable nestled on the robot’s broad chest-- and ran a tender hand over his goosefeather hair, smoothing the tufts that stuck out at odd angles. The touch roused Rouxls from his exhausted stupor and he raised his head, just to be met with Mettaton’s lips; soft, passionate, loving. Rouxls kissed back at once, humming contentedly into Mettaton’s mouth; and when Mettaton finally pulled away he smiled and cupped the Darkner’s face, running his thumb along a jutting cheekbone.  

He was switching tactics, playing his cards differently yet again. Upping the ante.

“Thou gazest upon me with doting eyes,” Rouxls remarked with a toothy grin. 

“I can’t help it, beautiful,” Mettaton murmured, every crisp consonant oozing calculated affection.

“I thinkest thou art... affected by mine charms?”

“ _Mmm_ ," the cunning robot purred, "You read me like a book.”

“Yes.”

The smile slid from Mettaton’s face and he blinked, feeling slightly unsettled.

That statement, that _single word..._ was true. Something in Rouxls’ voice was telling Mettaton that, without any shred of doubt, it was _true_ ; a beacon shining through a puzzling sea of eccentricities.

Eccentricities that had been of constant intrigue to Mettaton, this entire time. Eccentricities that piqued Mettaton’s long-standing fascination for the weirdos of the world, made him want to play the games he’d played with Burgerpants and many others, inspired him to take a complete stranger out on a date…

Mettaton leaned into Rouxls again, trying to kiss the paranoia away. Nobody, not even Mettaton, could read someone’s intentions and desires _that_ well; that sort of near-psychic skill was reserved for fiction. Sherlock Holmes, perhaps. Moriarty.

Besides, no matter what Rouxls’ goals were, he was clearly an idiot of astronomical proportions; he’d probably struggle to read a children’s book, never mind Mettaton.

_Right?_

Mettaton pulled away and stared searchingly into Rouxls' eyes, at those pinprick pupils like ink spots in milky crescent moons. Who the _fuck_ was this guy? A method actor? A Shakespeare enthusiast? A toady? Insecure?  

Was he full of himself, or a kiss-ass? Submissive, or dominant? A blithering idiot, or a calculated genius?

Was he part of Mettaton’s game... or was he making the rules?  

Rouxls returned Mettaton’s gaze, unblinking. A loose strand of plasma melted from the corner of his mouth and slipped down to his chin like a rivulet of molasses.

_“I’m whatever thou want-eth! Whatever thou wishes!”_

The whites of Rouxls’ eyes were reflective, almost impossibly so, and Mettaton could see his own beautiful face in them; looking back at him like a mirror image.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have kinda the weirdest headcanon for RK ever, and I tried to work a little of that in here (esp at the end) without making it too rambly or overly confusing. I apologize if it's too convoluted! Hopefully you can still enjoy the porn even if nothing else makes sense lmao  
> Also, the "dramaturgy" summary is from [the Psychology wiki](http://psychology.wikia.com/wiki/Dramaturgy_\(sociology\)); the definition slightly edited so it would fit better.


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